Versailles
by Burnout Black
Summary: She’s their last chance to take him down and she’ll do whatever it takes, even if it means seducing his comrades. Three different people. Three different paths. The love of a spy can never be trusted. AxM, SxM, ExM, KxK
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin or the French lines in this story. See below for translations of the French lines and for credits.

**Versailles**

**I. **_Si le viol, le poison, le poignard, l'incendie (1)  
_

She was twenty-two, young, cheerful, and the best spy they had.

The paper was cool in her hands, even as she struck a match and stoked a fire over the delicate penmanship of the words. It was a breezy spring in France (unusual for the nighttime), the bustling of cabs outside her apartment apparent through the open windows. She pitched the burning paper into the fireplace and watched as the inferno spread through her temporary home. Without looking back, without sparing a glance for the finely furnished rooms of her luxurious apartment, Misao Makimachi took a breath and leapt out her window. The shadows covered her small figure as she landed in a soft crouch, vibrant eyes glimmering in the darkness.

"_They are on to you. Do not stay behind. Burn this letter and any evidence you have when you have finished reading."  
- Okina_

It was a breezy night, and the wind carried her on as she sprinted through the alleyways of Versailles. She had a job to do.

**II. **_N'ont pas encore brodé de leurs plaisants dessins (2)_

Saitou Hajime (alias Fujita Goro) was used to staying up at odd hours in his uppity corner of the police department. The French were getting restless and even his old instincts told him that trouble was brewing in the seedy underbelly of Paris. He flicked the ash off his cigarette into the trashcan and grunted.

When he looked up, she was standing right in front of him.

"What the hell do you want?" He leaned back in his chair, groaning as the aches in his joints made known their protests and eyed the petite woman in front of him with distaste.

Her lips curved into an easy-going smile, eyes open and mocking, laughing. "You lost him, didn't you? You lost track of where he went and then he figured out where I was." She took out a slip of paper and slowly undid the red ribbon around it. He didn't miss the importance of the red ribbon. It was a sign, one of many that her organization had, and it meant that time was running out.

He swore viciously, threw the burnt out nicotine-infested stick in the trashcan at his feet and snatched the paper from her hands. She smirked, even though he knew that she wasn't actually feeling confident. This was the first time that anyone had ever managed to trace her to her hideout, and the first time that anyone had slipped past his radar. If he were a man of normal tendencies, he would've called the game up and quit. But Saitou wasn't normal and he certainly wasn't about to lose to Shinamori. Amber eyes narrowed as they took in the carefully written words, handwriting he recognized and loathed as much as he hated helping out one of _her_ kind.

"_Gather your men up as soon as you can. They're making their move tonight."  
-Okina_

He looked up from the paper just in time to see her figure meld into the shadows. He snorted despite the gravity of the situation and reached for another cigarette. Ever so dramatic; she was embarrassingly predictable. He brought the lighter up to his mouth and flicked the switch on, watching as the smoke trailed in lazy circles through the air.

It was midnight; he still had time.

Two hours later, the alarms went off.

**III.**_ Le canevas banal de nos piteux destines (3)_

He was not a patient man and did not stand for their foolish attempts at delaying his plans. It had been a mere inconvenience at first, being watched from all corners even as he watched them. The French police were incompetent fools, so he hadn't been worried. Money could buy a lot; it could buy power, fame, love, and loyalty. Apparently, money couldn't buy the _Commissaire de police. _He'd realized, after three months of being followed everywhere, that the new commander wasn't like any of the others he'd encountered so far. This one at least, was brutal, cunning, and quick as a fox. So it was that the annoyance had spread quickly to frustration and mild delays.

If it had stopped there, he would've dealt with it easily enough. Saitou Hajime was only one man, and all men could die. The assassination had been meticulously planned (an honor that he believed the man masquerading as Fujita Goro hadn't deserved). He'd planted some of his men in high positions, a risky maneuver, and had bided his time.

Those men were now lying six feet underground with a great smattering of bullets through their bodies and he had been nearly discovered.

He knew then that the famed _L'association de Curateurs_ had taken a hand in his dealings and dispatched his men so swiftly. Now, four months later after Saitou's failed assassination, Shinamori Aoshi was ready to take matters into his own hands—literally. The blades hissed softly as they slid into their respective sheaths and ice blue eyes flicked to the corner, a hint of brutality in his tone. "Tonight, it ends."

Hannya looked back at him, a grotesque mask fashioned from ivory sitting placidly over old scars, and nodded slowly. "Your men are already positioned and Saitou has been spotted. There will be resistance, are you sure you want to go out there?"

A stiff nod was his response and as the door slid shut behind the both of them, the wind swept away the criminal mastermind's last words.

"He will die tonight and then there will be none left to oppose my rule. When dawn arrives, I will hold the world in my hands."

It was a breezy spring night and not a single person paid the two figures any mind as they melded softly, discreetly into the dark night.

**IV.**_ C'est que notre âme, hélas! n'est pas assez hardie. (4)_

From the outside, the building didn't look special. It was worn at the edges and the concrete had been splashed with rebellious words from France's teenagers. A barely-there door creaked every so often with the wind and the hinges groaned continuously. The windows were shattered, the imprints of bullets still there among the glass shards as if they had been there only since yesterday. It smelled of despair and murder, of dying last words and conspiracy plans made by thugs who didn't know a life beyond the underworld.

The building was the safest place on Earth.

She slipped through the foliage of the trees and landed lightly on the roof, pale skin flashing by the dim light of the moon. Almost effortlessly, she turned and caught the tip of a poisoned dart, reversing the weapon and sending it back at the trees. There was a muffled curse and the sound of a body hitting the ground before other shadowy figures emerged from the cover of leaves and bare bark. "You barely missed hitting him." Omasu's tone was scolding, pretty brown eyes now slanted in a calculating and almost harsh expression.

Misao laughed softly and flexed her fingers. "You know I would never harm one of our own."

The other darkened figures chuckled amongst themselves, the tension in the atmosphere lessening rapidly.

"I trust you destroyed the note and delivered the message to Saitou as I asked, right?" The tone was warm and caring, hardly becoming of the most esteemed member of their small, but efficient spy network. Okina strode out through the creaky door and the squeaking hinges to flash a brief smile at her.

She nodded, leaping off the roof to kneel in front of him. "The bastard of a wolf knows what has to be done. Now, the question is, what will you have us do?"

Silence.

"Nothing. Now, we wait."

Far away from the safety of France's last hope, the flames of war stirred, lighting streets and houses alike on fire. Far away, Saitou Hajime checked his watch, spat out his last cigarette (damn, he'd need to buy a new pack tomorrow) and ordered his men to fire at will. Far away, Aoshi Shinamori withdrew his twin blades and carved a new world.

Tonight, Versailles would burn.

----------------------------------------------------

(1) If rape and poison, dagger and burning  
(2) Have still not embroidered their pleasant designs  
(3) On the banal canvas of our pitiable destinies,  
(4) It's because our souls, alas, are not bold enough!

Author's Note: These wonderful and striking words were written in 1857 by Charles Baudelaire. The actual section of his five-part epic used in this story is from Les Fleurs du Mal (The Flowers of Evil). I apologize for any confusion this prologue may have caused you, but rest assured that the fog will clear in the following chapters. I am not a native French speaker and do not presume to have all the phrases written correctly, so please refrain from feeling offended if you spot an error. Please review or drop me a line if you feel like this chapter was worth your time and effort. Every comment counts and I will need all the encouragement I can get to finish what is looking more and more like an epic.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin or the poem. Please refer to the Author's Note below the chapter for all credits and translations.

**Versailles**

_Le Premier Chapitre_

It had been a spectacular failure.

Sitting in the hospital with a broken leg propped up and his chest swathed in bandages, Saitou resisted the urge to break a couple more bones out of sheer boredom. His nicotine addiction packets had been confiscated, his body rendered incapable of any movement, and his mind was running on non-existent tracks in his brain. Really, it was enough to drive any half-sane man mad. The fire at Versailles had culminated with twenty-two casualties on the law enforcement side, fifty of Shinomori's men dead, and countless civilians torched in their homes.

In short, it had been brutal.

The man, that bastard, knew what he was doing. He'd taken out his back ups first, jacked the fire hydrants, and stood back as the flames shot sky high. Of course, the so-called _L'association de Curateurs _hadn't even bothered to step in at all. Saitou's mouth twisted into an unpleasant sneer at that thought. Spies weren't to be trusted.

"You look like shit, Chief."

"You look as ugly as always, asshole."

They stared at each other from across the room, amber eyes flickering at hazel ones before Sanosuke let loose a loud and uncouth guffaw. Saitou cringed at the sound; it grated on his ears and his nerves. The small-time criminal flashed a broad smile before settling himself comfortably against the wall, a fishbone hanging out of his mouth.

"Heard ya got yourself into some trouble and I was wondering if I could help ya out."

Saitou snorted, the very thought of that brute helping him was laughable at best. "You're a waste of space. The only reason why you're offering your pathetic services to me is so that the next time I catch you gambling at some whorehouse, you'll get a free out-of-jail card. I'm not interested."

"Shinomori must be good to get you down like this. The nurse told me ya had a broken leg, some nasty gashes on your chest, and a concussion from being slammed into a wall one too many times. Your police force is in chaos without a leader and I'm tellin' ya; this is a one-time deal. I'll play lapdog for ya in the underworld. It's not like you'd lose anything." He smirked then, fishing something out of his pockets and throwing it.

Saitou caught it with his free hand and the corner of his mouth curved up into a scornful smile. "So this is how you bribe me? By buying me some cheap pack of cigarettes?" There was a small click as the lighter was switched on, a bright bluish flame lighting the tip of one of the cigarettes. He took a drag and grimaced, it wasn't Marlboro, but it would have to do.

"So, how 'bout it Chief? We got a deal?'

Honestly, the kid was annoying as hell. But the cigarettes were a nice peace offering. Saitou grunted in displeasure. "Yes, now get your lazy ass out of here before I change my mind. It's not going to be my fault if you come back in the next week or month in a body bag. Remember that I gave you fair warning."

Sanosuke flashed one of his shit-eating grins and strode out of the room. "I'd tell you to get better, but the longer you're out, the longer I remain free out on the streets. So don't get better, please."

Tch. Cocky son of a gun.

"Monsieur Saitou! Oh, mon dieu! Refrain from smoking in a hospital, sîl-vous plait! You're still recovering."

Saitou snorted, "Like I care."

_**Les sanglots longs…  
Des violins **_(1)

The way into a man's heart and mind is through his bed.

Misao had been taught that since she was old enough to understand the concept of sex. She'd never used such a tactic before, relying more on the quiet stalking of her targets rather than the seduction techniques that Omasu and Okon utilized so efficiently. She was too valuable to the organization to risk revealing her face. Even now, Shinomori probably thought she was a male, twenty-three years of age with a shock of blond hair and bright blue eyes. Contact lenses and a wig could do a lot for a person.

Looking into the polished mirror, she decided that makeup could do a lot too. The rouge swept along her lips gracefully, the gloss shimmering the in the dim lighting of her room. Her bladed fan rested lightly on her thigh, the white dress shifting smoothly to allow for a glimpse of metal to shine through.

"Femme Fatale."

The words sounded cool to her ears and fell like glass shards onto the hardwood floor. She sighed and stood up soundlessly, fingers brushing the tip of her makeshift weapon. The edges bit into skin, drawing beads of blood that she flicked carelessly away onto the floor.

Who was she, really?

Misao Makimachi?

Girl. Woman. Spy. Traitor. Assassin. Murderer.

She didn't know anymore and tonight, she would no longer be the same. Tonight, she would be Madamoiselle Makimachi, a graceful, sultry, and backstabbing woman of the world.

The clock struck eight and she hurried into the modest car Okina had sent to pick her up.

"Where to, my lady?"

"The Royal Crown Hotel by the Arc de Triumph."

Tonight, she would have all men at her feet.

_**De l'automne  
Blessent mon couer **_(2)

"Monsieur Shinomori, Shishio is here."

"Show him in."

Cold blue eyes flickered in their intensity even as bandaged hands held packets of useless figures and numbers.

"Shinomori, notice anything funny about your figures?" The notorious weapons dealer laughed dryly, thin lips stretching into an unamused and sardonic smile. Aoshi didn't fail to notice that it never quite reached the other man's eyes.

"I see an increase in profit, nothing more, nothing less. Should I be seeing something that is not there?"

There was a shuffling of clothing, the soft rustling that came with an item being withdrawn. Barely a seconds worth of warning and Shishio's thin and nervous fingers withdrew a glinting gun. "You're encroaching on my territory. Stick to your drugs with Enishi and quit selling your weaponry to my clients."

Unfazed even at the gun pointed quite calmly at his temple, Aoshi continued to gaze at his papers with the same intensity that he'd given the other man mere seconds ago. "My superiority is not something that can be contested. Call your men off and stop following me like a lost puppy."

The sound as the hammer was cocked back in the gun was almost deafening in the silence that followed. The report of the gun going off was even louder. "I don't play games. Stop or I will be forced to report a rather…untimely death in the next few weeks."

"Say as you wish, but you will be paying for the damages to my wall."

Barely sparing a glance at the smoking hole embedded in the wall behind his head, the stoic man shifted positions, waving his hand in a gesture of obvious dismissal.

"I would watch your men closely, if I were you. There is no telling what happens to a lamb when it wanders into the cave of a lion, is there?" The door shut behind Shishio's ominous words and it was only then, only then, that Aoshi withdrew his own gun from beneath the folds of his trench coat.

A slow, satisfied smirk painted his face into that of a harsh and unyielding ruler.

"You would let him aim at you?" Hannya's voice was carefully toneless, ivory mask gazing impassively back at his sworn leader.

"He may have almost had my head, but I assure you, had I only the notion he would harm me…my own bullet would not have missed his heart. C'est la vie."

Had either of them noticed the absence of Beshimi, neither would have been feeling so comfortable any more.

Outside in the cool wind of Paris, Shishio laughed.

_**D'une langeur  
Monotone **_(3)

White was a pure color, unadulterated, refreshing, and _virgin_.

It was so easily tainted, corrupted, taken and stained. He wondered what the red wine would look on his neatly pressed white suit.

Teal-tinted eyes looked critically at themselves in the mirror, glanced over copper skin and silk ties, wandered past fingerless gloves and came to rest on the slightest bulge of a gun tucked within his blazer.

"Monsieur Yukishiro? Your car is ready and prepared, shall I call into the hotel to inform them of your late arrival?"

He turned then, giving his servant a glimpse of his half-shadowed profile, and smiled what could only be termed a condescending curve of the lips. "That will not be necessary, Rafael. It is always that much more commanding of a person to show up fashionably late." He gently nudged the shaded glasses resting on top of his head to the bridge of his nose and snapped his fingers. "Dismissed, Rafael."

The servant bowed low and exited the room.

"I've always wanted to see the Arc de Triumph in its full glory, you would've liked it, wouldn't you? Tomoe."

The picture looked back at him, quiet in its simplicity. It was quite an ordinary picture, frayed at the edges from too much love, and showed only the face of an otherwise unremarkable woman. She'd been his sister, some years ago, before she'd died in an effort to pursue what mankind so fickly dubbed "love". Enishi had never quite forgiven her for it, and he'd forgiven the murderer even less.

He laughed, a pleasant and warm sound, and closed the door softly behind him as he exited.

The Royal Crown Hotel had always been known for its fine wine.

Not for the first time, Enishi wondered when it would be that the police would catch Shinomori and him red-handed.

If he'd known about the girl heading to the same place as him, he would've packed and fled the country, but he didn't.

And so, it would come to be that this little girl would completely destroy him.

But that is another story.

---------------------------------------------------------

(1) When a sighing begins, In the violins  
(2) Of the autumn-song, My heart is drowned  
(3) In the slow sound, Languorous and long

Author's Notes: These lines were taken directly from Paul Verlaine's Chanson D'Automne poem's first stanza. The next two chapters will also contain lines from the second and third stanza. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed for the prologue; your words of encouragement really fueled this chapter. Once again, if you find this story worth your time, please drop me a comment.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Refer to Le Premier Chapitre for all necessary disclaimers and for translations, feel free to scroll down to the Author's Notes at the bottom of this chapter. Also, the + symbols stand for issues that will be addressed at the end of the chapter. Look for the - signs at the bottom to match up the notes with the + designated words.

**Versailles**

_-Le __Deuxième Chapitre-_

She smoothed her dress with slightly shaky hands, eyes glancing from the empty champagne flute in front of her to the old businessman at her side. His name was Robert, a prominent Parisian famous for his perfumes+ and even more famous for his innate desire to kill for the right scent. He'd been on the wanted list for awhile, but with the presence of Shinomori, Saitou had considered him second and inferior.

"And so… I told him, of course not! Mon dieu! I would never do that to such a lovely girl!" He laughed loudly, his squinty eyes twinkling with a mirth that she did not feel in his presence.

She hoped he didn't think her scent was good enough to kill her for.

"Oh, yes Monsieur Robert. There was never a gentleman like you." She smiled effortlessly and gave a silver laugh that gave no hint as to her disgust for the man. He smiled back, pleased that the girl had not yet begun to run away from him. He could use a bottle of her, label it "L'amour" and sell it to millions of unsuspecting customers.

But it was at that moment, at that very exact moment, that everyone in the fancy hotel ballroom stopped and turned to the opening door.

Misao would've called it magical, like a moment straight out of those fairytales where the prince came to retrieve his princess. But she wasn't that naïve and he wasn't a prince. She would've said that time froze and everybody stared in awe at the man, that famous drug dealer. But that didn't happen, and she would never let him know that he had that effect even on her.

Yukishiro Enishi.

Oh, yes. He was exceptionally handsome, which would make it all the more easier for her to pretend to adore him. Make it all the more easier for her to get close to him, get in his bed, and drive that knife through his back. Her cherry red lips curved upwards into a little sardonic smile, startling Robert who saw that smile as a warning sign, a smile that spoke of murder. He bid her a quick farewell, one that she didn't even bother to acknowledge, sea-green eyes still trained on her target.

In an ideal world, he would've looked only at her and they would've made eye contact. In an ideal world, seduction would've been that easy and that quick. But reality wasn't an ideal world and so it was that even as she looked at him, he looked elsewhere, a smirk on his handsome face. He looked at home in such a faux environment.

Prince, indeed.

They spent the next thirty minutes carefully making small talk with other corrupt leaders of the underworld. She met a world-class thief, dozens of murderers, and a handful of lascivious businessmen. He met with potential allies and charmed them with his easy manners and glib words. He met with potential enemies and left them sweating at his sheer _power_

And then, they met each other.

She canted her hips, ran a tongue over her lips and opened her bladed fan with a sharp _hiss_ of sound. "Misao. Makimachi Misao, and you are?"

He smiled, a crooked twitch of the lips, and bent to kiss her slender hand. "Yukishiro, Enishi. Pleased to meet you, Madamoiselle Makimachi."

He knew that she wasn't really like that, wasn't the type to seduce someone.

She knew that she was failing miserably at catching his carnal eye.

"I assure you, the pleasure is all mine." She laughed then, a twinkling sound like that of shattering glass, and brushed past him. They were close, close enough for him to feel her fluttering heartbeat and for her to breathe in his cologne.

Close, but not nearly close enough.

He let her go with a courteous bow, blue-green eyes watching her figure over the rim of tinted glasses. Carefully, almost delicately, Enishi raised his wine glass to his lips and let the cool liquid slide in a burning trail down his throat. She was a mystery, that one. She was too innocent looking underneath that makeup to be in this particular crowd, too smooth to be around these jaded people, and too dangerous to not be noticed.

His eyes continued to watch her until her slim figure was swallowed up by the surrounding people.

Makimachi Misao. He would remember that name.

_**Tout suffocant  
Et blême, quand**_ (1)

Sanosuke was a small fish in the underworld, a fighter-for-hire who never quite managed to impress the higher-ups. Sure, he had an impressive track record, disabling over ninety percent of his targets. But he didn't kill.

And that was the problem.

The occasional flickering red lantern dimly lighted Bois de Boulogne+, but he'd been here times before and he knew where to go.

He ignored the smoldering looks shot at him from a pair of smoking teenage girls clad in only the bottoms of what must've been some flimsy bikinis. The atmosphere made his skin crawl; he wasn't a fan of the red-light scenes in Paris.

And he didn't like whores, not that he had the money to afford them anyways.

"Get your damn hands off me." His words were growled in what would've seemed like a lustful manner were it not for his clenched fists by his sides. The girl gave a muffled apology, crimson nails tracing down his broad back before she turned away to find some other target.

He released a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding and increased his pace.

He found them underneath the embrace of a weeping willow and was relieved to find them both fully clothed.

"Shishio."

The man turned, eyes narrowed in dislike at being disturbed. "Who calls me?"

Sanosuke spat out his fishbone and cracked his knuckles. "Zanza. I've got a deal for you."

The woman gave a slight stirring and then her voice flowed across the clearing, smoky and smooth. "Ah, you're the infamous Zanza. Thrown in jail three times and you still haven't stood the dock yet." She turned and the red light fell upon her flawless face, illuminating long lashes and a coy smile.

"What can I say? The police love me too much to give me the cut, Yumi." He flashed a smile and drew an imaginary line across his neck.

"It'd be fairly easy to take your head off, Zanza. When there is nothing within a head aside from air, there is nothing to resist the blade." Shishio turned a pair of thoughtful eyes to the fighter and laughed. "So, what is the deal?"

Not for the first time in his life, Sanosuke thanked the gods for Saitou's information sources.

"You've been losing profits to the ice block Shinomori for awhile now. That bastard's henchmen also robbed me of my gambling profits. I figure that since our interests are aligned—"

"Temporarily." Shishio broke in, taking a drag from his opium pipe.

"Right, since our interests are aligned temporarily, I figured we could work together to take him down."

There was a long silence after that, and Sanosuke wondered if maybe he'd actually go back to Saitou in a body bag.

"Two things, Zanza. One, we will never work together. You are not on the same level as me; you are a tool and a pretty pathetic one at that if the reports I've had are true. I am superior to you and thus, you cannot claim to be on the same level as me. If I accept, it is because you are expendable to my organization as a henchman and nothing more. Two, in order to gain my trust and have even a modicum of a possibility to align yourself under me, you'll have to prove your trustworthiness." Yumi giggled at the last sentence and the weapons dealer rewarded her with a kiss.

Sanosuke resisted the urge to smash Shishio's face open and settled for punching the nearest tree, splintering the wood and sending chips of it flying in every direction. "Name it."

"By this time tomorrow, Shinamori's going to realize that he's missing a special someone. I want you to leave him a note courtesy of me without being seen and give him three days for a response. If he fails to agree to my conditions within the note, I want you to tell me and should he further resist…"

The pipe fell soundlessly to the ground, amber wood flashing in the lighting.

"You will bring me Shikijou's head or die trying, because if you fail and manage to come out alive…I will be your own personal executioner. So, are you up to it?"

Shit. He was _so_ screwed.

"Hell yeah."

The body bag was starting to look more and more like his future and less and less like a joke.

He was in way over his head.

_**Sonne l'heure,  
Je me souviens**_ (2)

Kenshin watched the scene unfold with narrowing eyes and growing anxiety.

She wasn't fit for the job, he could tell that much. Her nerves were too frazzled and her eyes were too _innocent_. She wasn't walking the way a woman walked and she wasn't acting like a seductress.

She was a lolita.

He bit his lip and muttered a soft Parisian curse, moving smoothly to her side as one man got too close. "Misao, you really shouldn't toy with them so much. Delicate hands like yours can get cut easily when tangled up in sharp wires."

She looked back at him and flashed a thumbs-up discreetly, a gesture obviously meant to reassure him, but in truth did nothing but frustrate him.

"Don't worry so much Himura. It won't be my delicate hands playing with them when push comes to shove. You jest!" She twittered and closed her fan, smiling sweetly at him even as the few businessmen at their dinner table chuckled at her antics.

He wasn't amused.

"Yeah, Himura. Loosen up, here, have some more of this fine wine."

"For an assassin, you've got to have a firmer hold on your girl or she's going to run away from you."

"Gentlemen, ladies, may I be let in on this private little joke?" Enishi's voice came directly behind Kenshin and he tensed involuntarily, reaching for a sword that was no longer there.

They locked eyes and there was a hatred so fierce between them that even the dense businessmen backed away hastily from the pair. Misao, on the other hand only smiled a secretive little smile, and folded her slim hands in her lap.

"We were just laughing at Himura's inability to control me."

Enishi turned a pair of predatory eyes to her and Kenshin restrained the part of him that wanted to reach out a protective arm and defend her from the man's touch. But he couldn't and she wouldn't let him because this was _all part of the plan._

Damn Saitou for involving him and damn himself for allowing himself to be involved.

"Really, Madamoiselle? Truly? I had no idea, and here I thought Monsieur Himura could have and control anything he wanted." _Like how he controlled and had my sister._ His eyes were like shards of ice as they gazed at her and she locked eyes with him in a silent challenge.

"It's nigh impossible for anyone to control me. Care to try?"

His lips curled into a satisfied smirk and he reached out a gloved hand to tip her chin up. "Nothing's impossible, darling."

Kenshin never felt more helpless than now, watching as the prey and the predator reversed roles.

This was so wrong.

And he could do nothing.

_**Des jours anciens  
Et je pleure **_(3)

Soujiro wasn't a particularly merciless man.

But he wasn't about to be manipulated again; he wasn't about to allow himself to fall into another trap.

"It's futile to hide." He smiled, dodging a poisoned dart with flawless ease. "You will die and it will be because Shinomori wasn't careful and didn't care for you. If you die, it's because Shinomori didn't heed our warnings and decided to put your life on the line."

There. On the rooftop.

Crystal blue eyes crinkled up with mirth and within seconds, the assassin found himself behind a very paranoid man. "Found you!"

For Beshimi, time had just run out.

The death was quick and probably painless, a simple sword thrust through his neck. In. Out. No mistakes, no traces.

The boy sheathed his sword with a satisfied click and waved a cheery goodbye to the decapitated body. "Do give Shinomori my best regards when he joins you down there."

The body would be discovered twenty hours later.

----------------------------------------------------------------

-This lovely idea came from the book Perfume written by Patrick Süskind, which details the fictional life of a murderer who kills women for their extravagant scent. He then preserves the scent and transforms it into bottles of perfume that become wanted everywhere. I highly recommend this book to any readers who feel like they can stomach such a plot.

-Bois de Boulogne is an infamous park in Paris. In the morning, it is a tranquil scene, but at night, it becomes a huge red-light zone. It's pretty well summed up in The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown. It's famous for having prostitutes of all genders and sometimes of both genders (hermaphrodites).

(1) Pale as with pain, Breath fails me when  
(2) The hours tolls deep. My thoughts recover  
(3) The days that are over, And I weep.

Author's Notes: Huge thanks to Super Sheba for the correction between Shinamori and Shinomori. I hadn't realized the spelling error until she pointed it out. To clear up confusion about Misao's personality, I wrote her with the idea that she would be more mature but still insecure (a fact that will become more and more apparent as the story progresses). I also completely forgot to mention what time period Versailles takes place. It takes place during the late 1800s, hence the reason why there are still swords used. I am aware that France abolished the death penalty around 1981, but during the 1800s, the guillotine was still used. Hence the meaning behind Sano's beheading move. Once again, the poem was written by Paul Verlaine and the last part of it will be used in the next chapter. I hope that you all enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please review, it really does make me feel that much more encouraged. Every chapter I write is a product of your enthusiasm and kind comments.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Rurouni Kenshin or Chanson d'Automne. See the Author's Note below, as always, for any additional comments and musings.

**Versailles**

_-Le__ Troisieme Chapitre-_

Raining, again.

The streets were empty and lifeless. She gazed dejectedly at her day's profits, meager at best. She'd barely made more than sixty francs. Slender and pale fingers gently picked up wet brushes and tubes of lacquered paint with the ease of an artist.

Art was all she had left.

Kenshin had gone away to help an old acquaintance in Paris barely a month after their wedding. It had been raining then too. Hardly anyone had come to their wedding, Megumi had disappeared years before Kenshin had came along and Yahiko couldn't get out of his duties serving the loan sharks his parents had been indebted to before they died. Kaoru hated this feeling, a familiar feeling, as if the world was a large and lonely place.

She wiped away the tears on her face and pretended to herself that it was only the rain. Kenshin would be back soon. He'd promised. It seemed so long ago, their first encounter. He'd been sleeping on one of the benches scattered around La Bretagne's parks, clothing in pathetic tatters and strands of red hair falling listlessly around his overly thin and pale face. She'd been rushing to get home; business had been terrible and she'd just wanted to go home and cry alone in the sanctity of her run-down apartment. But something about him had just _struck_ her. As if his dilapidated appearance had made her feel just a little bit better inside. She'd hated herself for feeling that way, but at the same time, she'd had the insane urge to put down his quiet suffering on paper.

So she drew him.

And she'd continued to draw him every day for the next three days until he'd woken up in the middle of her sketching.

She'd taken him in, laughed and cried with him for a year and a half, and somehow had fallen in love with him. She would sit by her rickety stall across from the park entrance and wait for a passerby to pay her ten francs for a portrait, and he would sweep the debris and leaves littering the sidewalks. There were times when the money they made wasn't enough to even pay her rent, but sometimes, they'd have a little extra leftover and they'd take Yahiko out for a meal.

She supposed she'd been happy, but she really wasn't because she _loved_ him and he didn't even know.

But he'd figured it out, and they'd gotten married.

And then he told her about Tomoe Yukishiro, his first love and his first wife. He told her about nights spent stalking men and then just as silently, killing them. He told her how he managed to sink underneath the radars that existed in the underground long enough to meet her and then marry her. He'd asked her if she still loved him.

She told him he was an idiot to think otherwise.

And now, now someone who'd never given Kenshin a rat's ass had taken him away again, had forced him to go back to the very place he'd ran away from. She gritted her teeth and fought back the tears that threatened to run down her face again.

She would never forgive Fujita Goro. Never.

Outside, it continued to rain.

She didn't see the abnormal shadow until it was too late.

_**Et je m'en vais  
Au vent mauvais**_(1)

"Sh-Shinomori-san! Permission to speak!" The messenger bowed low, forehead pressing into the polished wooden floor, breath coming out in choked heaves.

He waved his hand in a gesture of nonchalance and flicked a pair of gleaming sapphire eyes over the unfortunate figure. "Permission granted." From his side, Hannya remained impassive, ghastly mask intent on the human specimen crouched on the floor.

"Monsieur Beshimi was found brutally murdered just now. No traces as to his killer, but his body should be here in a couple of hours." The message, clear enough in its delivery, froze the entire room.

The atmosphere, unwelcoming before, turned to absolute hostility. "Where was the body discovered?" The gun clicked in his hand as the safety was turned off, papers shoved aside as the drug lord abandoned all pretenses of carelessness. Hannya clenched his hands, jaw tightening imperceptibly at the news.

The answer, innocent enough, started the beginnings of a bitter war. "In the alleyways, not far from here."

Cold and merciless eyes narrowed in abhorrence, seething with the newfound knowledge. He turned slowly to Hannya by his side, dismissing the messenger with a barely controlled snap of the wrist. "Shishio. This reeks of his handiwork." Aoshi stood up abruptly, hands coming down on the desk surface with enough impact to jar the myriad of papers and writing utensils. "So this was what he was talking about."

"It would appear to be this way." Hannya hissed, anger twisting deformed features into a monstrosity.

"Hannya?"

"Yes?"

"Get Enishi over here. Now."

_**Qui m'emporte  
Deçà, delà, **_(2)

He was quite handsome, she reflected almost wistfully to herself as she watched him from across the round table. With eyes the piercing color of teal and a suit that clearly outlined his sharp planes of coiled and lithe muscle, he was the perfect picture of chivalry and seduction wrapped into one. In a sense, she realized that her thoughts were far too dangerous, that she was supposed to seduce him and not be seduced _by_ him. But it was too late for that and the physical attraction was there and vibrating tangibly between the two of them.

"Misao?"

She snapped out of her reverie, turning a pair of aqua orbs to her supposed 'date' with mild interest. "Oui? I apologize for my inattention, I was simply too caught up with the wonderful décor and amicable company here." She simpered, hiding a smirk behind her bladed fan. She crossed her legs, the white dress sliding effortlessly to reveal a generous amount of moon-white calves between the side slits. Eyes focused on her, the men entranced by her guile and her wit.

Only Kenshin and Enishi remained visibly unaffected, one eyeing her with something close to exasperation and the other amused at her flirtation with danger. "I was just saying that you were new to the scene. After all, we have not been acquainted for as long as I would've liked. These men were curious as to where you came from. I thought you'd wish to introduce yourself more…properly." Violet eyes glanced quickly at her scandalously revealing outfit before snapping back to the occupants of the table. There was no doubt as to what the intended meaning of 'properly' was.

"Oh, of course. How rude of me." She paused to set down the fan, bringing one slender hand to grasp at the pendant by her neck. "I am, of course, Makimachi Misao. Twenty-one years of age already and my previous occupations involve…" She trailed off, laughing inwardly as she caught the interest glimmering in Yukishiro's irises. She leaned forward, tongue wetting her lips so that they fairly gleamed with moisture.

"Well, wouldn't you like to know?" She whispered teasingly.

The men gave a collective sigh of disappointment, visibly let down by her refusal to name her previous jobs.

"Not even a hint?" The man to her far right moaned.

"Just one occupation, just tell us one." Another gentleman pleaded.

"Come now, she is teasing us and you are falling into her trap all too easily." Enishi broke in, a knowing smirk on his lips. "Madamoiselle Makimachi wants us to beg for her little anecdote, and I am quite unwilling to stoop to such a lowly level. Even if she does have quite the pretty face." He finished delicately, exuding such an aura of confidence so as to startle her.

She shot a clearly challenging stare at him and sighed lowly. "Well, I guess it can't be helped. What woman can resist such charm? Surely not I." She murmured, taking a small sip of the wine and relishing the cool taste in her throat. "Some years back, I was a dancer in the streets. No doubt you are familiar with Bois du Bologne? Well, I made my living there for a while. Kenshin here became quite enamored with me, I am flattered to say, and since then, I have become his companion." Misao finished softly, mysteriously, and placed a hand on Kenshin's wrist.

"But wait a moment, Madamoiselle Makimachi! I have never seen you at Bois du Bologne, and I frequent that place quite often!"

She laughed, fixing a near seductive gaze at the speaker. Poor fool, she thought for a moment, so caught up in her web of lies. "You will find that I am not so easily found."

"But you are here in front of us now and flaunting everything that we could have…and more. Surely, you as the temptress, ought to give us something for that agony you are making us go through?" Enishi taunted, and for a moment, she wanted nothing more than to reach over and tell him just_ exactly_ what she had planned for him. But she resisted the impulse and merely flashed a teasing smile that felt foreign on her face.

"I would hardly call myself the temptress when you yourself seem to entice nearly every woman you meet." She voiced back, the words a playful jab.

But he was skilled, far more skilled than she, and he responded equally in kind. "You say nearly. Perhaps I have not yet enticed you?"

They locked gazes and the butterflies in her stomach grew in intensity until she looked away first. "Charming as you are, Monsieur Yukishiro. I will remain true to Kenshin, for he has laid claims to me first."

"Claims to your body, or your heart?"

She paused, risking a glance at Kenshin only to find an equally mirrored expression of helplessness in his eyes. This was her battle to fight, she realized and narrowed her eyes in determination. "Why? If both were free, what would you do?" She breathed out, tucking a tendril of stray hair behind her ear.

He gave her a cocky grin, amateur perhaps on another person's face, but it looked absolutely _dangerous_ and _thrilling_ on his finely molded features. "The same as any other man would do when in your presence. I would make you mine."

Her breath caught and she watched the challenge hang suspended between the two men.

"But she isn't yours." Kenshin spoke quietly, threateningly.

"She is a free person, is she not? Give her a choice in the matter." The carefully contained deceitful chivalry slid across the space between her and him, tantalizing as the Devil's Kiss. She turned to the side, pretending to be a mere listener.

"She has already chosen me."

"Has she really?"

The tension was interrupted by the appearance of Shinomori's messenger.

_**Pareil à la  
Feuille morte. **_(3)

She was a feisty one and a quick learner. He would give her that much credit, but no more. Unless a pretty face counted as credit. He smirked, loosening the tie around his neck before standing up to walk over to the messenger. He was careful to maintain eye contact with her though, only slightly satisfied when she broke away to resume conversation with the manslayer by her side, a blush rising on her ivory cheeks.

"Monsier Yukishiro, Monsieur Shinomori has requested your immediate presence. The car is outside and waiting for you. I ask that you please hurry." The words were spoken loudly enough and immediately, all bustling in the room stopped. Words hushed and glances furtive as they ultimately lingered on him and the ties he has with Shinomori. He sighed, running a hand through his spiked hair before nodding his assent. It was a shame really, that all this fun had to end. Especially when Kenshin's play toy just showed up.

His strides were careful and easy as he sauntered over to the jade-eyed lady. Her skin was warm and smooth to touch underneath his grip on her bare shoulder. He bent down so his lips barely brushed her ear and laughed, low and rich, as she tensed and flushed a stunning crimson. "Do not think that our conversation is over, Madamoiselle. I expect you to accept this invitation for some sightseeing with me tomorrow in the evening." His hands delved deep into suit pockets and withdrew a golden gilded card, swiftly leaving it in her lap as he withdrew.

He could practically _feel_ Himura's heated glare on his back as he walked away, and the knowledge only made him smile. That woman would be his before long. He would make sure of it.

"Ready, Monsieur?"

He slid his shades back on his eyes and got into the warm vehicle unhurried. "Of course, let's see just exactly what Aoshi has that is so important."

The ride seemed to take mere seconds, but the moon hanging low on the pitch-black sky told Enishi that time had indeed passed. He was quickly brought to the main house of operations where he was told to then proceed cautiously for his partner was not in a forgiving mood. He shrugged the warnings off and entered just as carelessly as he always did, fingers careful to keep a steady grip on the gun in his pocket. They were partners, but that afforded little safety, if any at all.

"I'll have you know that you robbed me of some delightful company for the evening. This had better be good."

"Beshimi is dead. Murdered by Shishio, no note yet, but I'm sure we can expect one." Aoshi spoke, quiet and carefully controlled, but nonetheless bubbling with poorly concealed fury.

Teal eyes widened imperceptibly behind slim shades at the news. Shinomori, being the main man behind the weapons trade and the one who housed the opium maker, was constantly under attack from other organizations. Thus, the man had four main guards, all equally well trained and ready to die for their leader. These Elite Four, or rather _Les Bras de Dieu_(4), were constantly in the presence of Shinomori. For even one of them to have been murdered was a serious threat indeed as to the organization's safety. He cursed softly and dropped his normal casual demeanor nearly instantly. "And the other three?"

"We're here." Hannya answered, stepping out from the shadows with the hulking figures of Shikijou and Hyotoko. Enishi resisted the urge to whip out his gun in their presence. So silent, they could've easily have been invisible for all the noise they'd made. Aoshi alone was enough to put him on edge, but the other three guards held no loyalties to him at all, and he was more than likely equal prey to them as Shishio should their master will it.

"What should we do?"

Aoshi's grim expression was the furthest thing from comforting as he replied stoically. "We wait for the note to arrive and decide from there."

"What injuries did Beshimi sustain?" The question was asked carefully for Enishi knew just how close those four (now three) guards were to the overlord. But he had to know, because depending on which of Shishio's many henchmen committed the act, they would know just exactly how much trouble they were in. A low-life would mean only a low threat; one of Shishio's prized killers would mean a full-blown attack.

"One, the one that killed him. It was a clean slice through the neck."

Oh, _shit_. The thought was registered with something akin to horror, because in the entire damned world, there were only two people who could do something so neat and swift: The Manslayer and Seta Soujiro. And the last time he'd checked, Himura Kenshin was most definitely not working for the weapons dealer—or anyone for that matter. "You know what this means." He responded slowly, thoughtfully, and all too knowingly.

"Ah. He has sent in his prized Heavenly Sword to combat us." The seemingly harmless statement was accompanied by the flashing of a pistol and the glare of firelight on steel. The expression displayed in the ice-cold bastard's eyes was murderous.

It wasn't a simple battle anymore, he realized with dawning anticipation. It was a slaughterhouse.

Some miles away, Sanosuke silently ran through the empty streets, a piece of paper clutched tightly in one hand.

---------------------------------------  
(4) Literally, The Arms of God.

(1) And I go, Where the winds know  
(2) Broken and brief, To and fro  
(3) As the winds blow, A dead leaf.

Author's Notes: Please excuse the horrendously long three-month wait. I'm so sorry for keeping you guys on hold, but Bleach was calling out for me to write stuff and I got carried away. This chapter finishes up Chanson D'Automne by Paul Verlaine. Kaoru finally gets some action and you'll see Megumi next chapter. I had some trouble with the tenses for this chapter due to three month of writing in present tense for other works of fanfiction. As always, please leave a review to motivate me!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Nope. I don't own Rurouni Kenshin or the poem written by Victor Hugo below. Refer to my Author's Note for lengthy background information about the newest poem, references and allusions within the story, as well as general musings.

**Final Pairings: **I just realized I never told you guys the final pairings for Versailles. They are as follows. Aoshi/Misao, Enishi/Misao, Soujiro/Misao, Sanosuke/Megumi, Kenshin/Kaoru, past mentions of Kenshin/Tomoe, Shishio/Yumi. The ending does end up choosing either Aoshi, Enishi, or Soujiro to be Misao's consort (and I have already decided who it will be), but for the sake of suspense, you will have to keep on reading to find out who she chooses of the three men. I will, however, gladly read opinions as to who it should be once Soujiro/Misao and Aoshi/Misao interactions have been introduced. If you are eloquent enough, my opinion may actually change and I may rewrite the ending plot.

**Versailles**

_-Le Quatrième Chapitre-_

How had it come to this?

Megumi's hands shook as she folded the packets of opium to be delivered to the eagerly awaiting masses. She swallowed around the inevitable lump in her throat and flung the tiny, white poisoned triangle into the brown box. She tried to ignore the way others stared at her as she worked soundlessly, functioning as a nut or a bolt in a gigantic and efficient killing machine. Tomorrow, she would wake up with the blood of hundreds of addicts on her hands. Tomorrow, she would continue to kill countless others. Tomorrow, she would fold the same opium packet as her heart died the same death again and again and again. It was a vicious cycle that she couldn't break, didn't have the power or the means to break.

Aoshi Shinomori.

The bane of her existence, the man who wouldn't let her die peacefully. She clenched her hands and watched in muted joy as the white powder slipped out of the packet to spill on the cement floor of the basement. She would suffer later for that one second of vengeful action, but it was worth it. One less packet meant one less sin to be freed from. What had she dreamed so childishly to be so long ago? A doctor? Her lips twitched into a ghost of a smile—bitter and cruel, before her features lapsed back into a blank expression. Fate was a lover of Irony and all that came with it. She'd wanted to save lives back then, wanted to make a difference in someone's life. Now? Now she could only wait for her own death to end the suffering of the very people she'd wanted to help mere years ago.

How many times had she tried to hang herself with the fabric of her clothing, to see the world fade to an unforgiving black and know that she would go to Hell for her actions? How many times had she filched a dagger from the workers cutting open the sealed cardboard boxes containing the materials with which to build their poison from? How many times had she sat in her room with the very same dagger in her hand positioned directly above her wrist, ready to descend with a horrible intent? How many times had she tried to consume the opium in the hopes of never waking up?

Always denied that last semblance of salvation by Shinomori's ever-watchful guards. His infamous _Le Bras de Dieu_ who stopped her again and again, breaking her arm to stop the descent of a dagger, cutting the fabric that suspended her from the flickering lamp in her room, burning the opium packets in her possession on a nightly basis. They would never let her rest in peace, stealing away her every wish. Oh, how she hated them. How she hated herself and the rest of the mindless workers who were made to do as Shinomori bid. How she hated the quality that drew the drug overlord to her and ultimately orchestrated her spiral downwards.

A murmur of unease rippled through the clearing, hushed words seeping through the atmosphere like poisonous gas. She shivered at the feeling and drew her dark hazel eyes to the only door in the basement, anticipation twisting her stomach into knots. It was the calm before the storm, Megumi thought with pensive clarity, the false moment of serenity before a massacre. She half-expected Shinomori's henchmen to open the door and rain bullets upon them, smiling morbidly at the thought. She was sorely disappointed when the door finally swung open, hinges creaking in protect, to reveal a man she'd seen only twice before.

"We have had an intruder," Yukishiro announced, dark glasses propped coolly on the top of his spiked hair. His gloved hands tapped thoughtfully on the iron railing of the metal stairs, eyes scanning the clearing with near devilish amusement. She sneered and mocked him inwardly, flipping her long hair over a shoulder in a dismissive gesture before going back to her task. She could care less what the pompous ass had to say. He was everything Shinomori was and was not. He was equally wicked, equally guilty, but confident and suave and flashy in a way that only supremely comfortable and sleazy men could be. She preferred Aoshi's stoic silence. At least it allowed her the faint illusion that he was dead.

"Takani, you might want to pay attention to what I'm saying." His words snapped her increasingly tightening rope of tolerance and she turned around, a spark in her eyes and bloodlust flaring strong and deep within her soul. The _bastard_ had taken everything she'd ever stood for and he was trying to get her to listen to his sick logic? The _nerve_.

"Tell it to the grave," she spat furiously and watched with a sinking feeling in her stomach as he only laughed. The sound bounced off the gray, concrete walls to mingle with the echoes of her shrill response. It was cacophonic and she took pleasure in the fact that they could never coexist peacefully. They would never get her to be docile; she'd rather be six feet underground than follow the likes of him with a stupid, simpering smile on her face.

"We have an intruder, and while this hasn't caused any harm to us yet, we'd like for everyone to remain at attention. Should we, namely _Les Bras de Dieu_, Shinomori, or I receive word of a traitor in our midst…" He lingered ominously on the last syllable, drawing out his gun in the process and shining it with a handkerchief before continuing. "Necessary actions will be taken." He finished at last, questioning eyes turned towards her. She looked away, half hoping he would think her a traitor and shoot her on the spot. She would at least thank him if he did that much for her. But he didn't and merely gazed at her in his calmly assessing way before turning on his heels to leave the dungeon that was her forced home.

"Oh, and by the way, Takani. Shinomori told me that a special someone would be coming to see you in a few days. She's currently traveling with one of his special agents and is at his command. What was her name again?" She gazed in horror as a satisfied smirk worked its way onto his handsome and sly face. Her throat closed up on her and she could only watch in muted terror as his lips formed his next words. "Oh yes. Kaoru. Kamiya Kaoru. Sound familiar?" He placed the muzzle of the gun to his lips and breathed over it lightly, a knowing smile on his face. "We wouldn't want our permanent guest…damaged before she got here, now would we?" He mocked her and she could only stare at his back as he closed the door behind him, the heavy echo of his sharp footsteps on the floor only further trapping her in a world where she just couldn't win.

There was no one to comfort Takani Megumi as she fell to her knees in despair.

_**La mort et la beauté sont deux choses profondes**_ (1)

Of course he wasn't a sadist.

"Going somewhere?" Shinomori's form stepped out from behind his position by the closet, cold eyes glancing briefly at the room. "I would hardly consider this the perfect time to go on a dinner date. Shishio's note concerns you as well." His tone was bland and yet the words meticulously formed. Aoshi wasn't a man who wasted his words and his careful preparations were irksome to the much more aggressive and fast-paced Chinese opium dealer.

"I can't disappoint her. Besides, the note gave you three days to decide and I doubt he'd rush things at this point in time." Enishi answered easily, shrugging slim but powerful shoulders in a gesture that clearly stated he could care less. "Besides, I have a feeling that this Makimachi Misao isn't who she's pretending to be. It's been awhile since I've had this much fun." He slowly looped the tie around his neck, drawing it tight so that it rested perfectly on his crisp, white attire. "Now, if you'll excuse me Shinomori, I have a lady to attend to and a beautiful night in Paris to enjoy. C'est la vie, mon ami." If he saw the slight and almost sinister glint of metal in by the dim candlelight, he gave no indication of it, moving smoothly to exit out of his bedroom.

"Enjoy." Shinomori muttered to the now empty room before he too departed.

Unbeknownst to the operation head, Enishi's smile curved into one of grim satisfaction as he replied to invisible people. "Oh, believe me Shinomori, I will. I will." He waved a hand at one of the many nameless and expendable people who worked in the manor and swept into a luxury car, gloved hands tightening on the steering wheel with pleasure. The steady thrum of the engine rippled through his veins, potent as opium and adrenaline combined, before he took off down the streets, the lingering remnants of smoke drifting in the night air. It was always addicting to be the one behind the wheel, to be the one who held the reins of such power, to be the one with absolute strength. It was a shame Shinomori insisted on having a simpleton drive the car for him every time. Enishi slipped the shades back down to the bridge of his nose and turned the steering wheel left, enjoying the sights of the lights blurring past him. Such a shame, really.

He found himself rather disappointed as the sight of his destination drew closer and closer, but his keen eyes caught the image of a slim and petite female and without his knowledge, his lips curved into a smile. He parked the car gracefully in front of her, killing the engine softly before stepping out of the car with a simple casual movement. Her face seemed remotely impressed but her eyes told him it would take more than a fancy car or a handsome face to win her over. Well, that was fine with him. Two could play at that game. "Madamoiselle," he acknowledged, sweeping into a low bow before taking her soft and warm hand into one of his own.

Eyes twinkling with mischief, he locked gazes with her and lowered his lips to the pale expanse of skin, kissing the back of her hand lightly and tantalizingly slow. He could feel her shiver, every tremor instigating a response in his own body. He could take her now, he could easily overpower her and hold her captive within his room, but one look at the sweet blush gracing her face, and he reluctantly stepped back. Maybe sometime later, once she trusted him enough. He supposed the longer he waited, the sweeter the moment would be. "I am pleased that you showed up alone as I asked." He said, lending an arm for her to hold onto as he prepared to enter the high-class restaurant.

He watched as she pursed her lips, and damn, she looked kissable like that. "Himura wouldn't let me go at first, but I convinced him that you would be terribly offended if I didn't end up coming." She murmured, voice breathy and a perfect mix between being innocent and being completely corrupt. Like red wine and white bed sheets, he thought with a pleased expression on his face. She was quite the fast learner if she could transform her awkward attempts yesterday into such a faint hint of seduction. He'd always had a fondness for lolita-like ladies after all.

"You were quite right in assuming so." He answered smoothly back, placing a hand on the small of her back and relishing the feel of her red silk dress rubbing against his skin. The material was quite fine and so thin that it felt like air. Only a small, hidden zipper and a bow cinching the dress around her waist prevented him from touching skin. The thought that he was so close and yet still far teased his senses and unbeknownst to him, his teal eyes darkened several shades with lust.

She laughed, a lilting sound, and sidestepped his wayward hand with casual ease. "I am glad to see that my judgment was correct. My senses have never failed me before." She tucked a stray hair behind her ear and watched in surprised silence as the restaurant waiter lead them to the balcony where a solitary table with a flickering candle was situated. "Mon dieu. I had no idea you were this intent on pursuing me. I'm flattered." She whispered into his ear, breath ghosting over the rim before she turned to the railing.

"For you, this must be nothing. I am sure you've seen far more grandeur." He replied, following her to edge of the balcony after he told the waiter to retrieve two bottles of the finest red wine they had in stock. They could order later, for now, her company and the view of all of Paris was enough to keep him content. "Do you like it?"

She didn't reply for a while, eyes entranced by the myriad of glowing lights and the towering figure of the Eiffel tower in the distance to bother answering his insignificant question. He waited patiently, admiring her gleaming braid and thin, bird-like bones with appreciation. Himura had good taste in women, he thought absentmindedly, fingers drumming on the railing idly. Himura was also a fool to let her go so easily. It never even occurred to him that there wasn't any reason for the infamous assassin to keep her by his side.

He reached for her elbow, ready to lead her back to the table where the waiter had arrived with his requested two bottles of fine wine. He expected her to follow him, to maybe puller her elbow out of his grasp, but the sudden pivot and kick aimed at his head completely caught him off guard. He didn't pause to admire the scandalous amount of alabaster white leg revealed by the dress sliding up by her sudden attack, but maneuvered quickly back and caught her ankle in a firm grip. It was then that he was amused to find the same amount of shock written on her face as was on his features mere milliseconds ago. "Fast. But not quite fast enough." He quipped, cocking his head to the side in mild amusement.

But her technique was good, far too good for a simple self-defense maneuver. Her fluidity and power spoke of years of training and the way her leg tensed underneath his hold told him she was more than capable of turning the tables on him. He slid the shades from his eyes to the top of his head and leaned close to her, relishing the way her heartbeat fluttered anxiously beneath him.

"It seems, Madamoiselle Makimachi, as if you have a couple tricks up your sleeve as well."

_**Qui contiennent tant d'ombre et d'azur qu'on dirait**_ (2)

_Merde_.

She cursed herself for her ill-timed reaction. She had drifted off watching the Parisian skylights, drifted off with the enemy by her side. His sudden reach for her had set off her impulsive reaction and without even thinking, she'd turned around and aimed a lethal kick at his head. Now, with his hand closed tightly around her ankle and his mind filled with questions, she would have to lie better than she'd ever lied before. She took a calming breath and flashed a fiery glare at him, flipping backwards in a move that forced him to relinquish his hold on her.

"Don't we all have our secrets?" She shot back, fingers reaching for the slim dagger securing her braid. "But since you're so eager to figure me out, I'll answer your question provided you promise to never startle me like that again."

He smiled predatorily and snapped his fingers. "Deal. Now my question is, who are you really? I haven't seen a move like yours before and don't even bother telling me that you picked it off the streets. I know a professional killer when I see one and you've been doing this for at least ten years if not fifteen." A part of him told him to be wary of the woman in front of him, for she was glib of tongue and was no doubt skilled. Another part of him was seriously intrigued by the prospect of a true femme fatale and yearned to lay claims to her. He dismissed the first notion and focused on the second one instead, she would prove far more interesting than any other female he'd had before.

"Makimachi Misao. I told you that already. I really was a dancer at one point, but that was just a two-year cover for my assassination plans. I was supposed to kill Fujita Goro, the _Commissaire de Police_, but someone blew my cover and I had to give the job up. I've worked under various people throughout my life, but most of what I learned came from Kenshin's teachings. I'm currently on hiatus since Kenshin doesn't want to endanger my life anymore than he has to." She paused, proud of her quick lie and the easy way with which the words flowed from her mouth. "He said I was no good with a sword and taught me kenpo instead, hence the reason behind the kick and the lack of a blade on my body. So now you know, Monsieur Yukishiro. Had enough information yet or are you still hungry for more?"

He gestured at the table with the wine bottles on it and gave an easy smile. "I hardly consider that any information at all. Perhaps you could give me some more details about your so-called job over some delightful red wine? I promise you I have not poisoned it."

"I wouldn't put it below you if you did drug it with something." She retorted before walking to the table with flustered strides.

"You wound me with your words." He murmured in response, placing a hand over his heart most dramatically. She laughed softly and withdrew her hand from the knife masquerading as a hair clasp within her braid. He was off guard and still unwilling to consider her a threat. She sighed and willed her heart to calm down. So far, she wasn't in any danger.

"How much do you enjoy your position at the manslayer's side?" He toyed idly with the wine glass, running a finger across the rim before settling for leaning back in the chair. An interesting idea was forming in his head and Enishi wondered if Shinomori would penalize him for acquiring a new secretary.

Misao pretended to debate the question, excitement and anticipation quickening her breath. It was almost too easy to get into the man's head, almost too easy to get herself into his part of the organization. "He is powerful, treats me like a lady, and has plenty of money and loyal followers. I enjoy it—perhaps sinfully so. It's not every day that the manslayer seeks a consort." She tipped her head back to let the wine slide down her throat, the movement exposing her long and smooth neck to Enishi's observant eyes. "Why?" She asked, a coy smile working its way onto her features. "Do you require a lady by your side as well, Monsieur Yukishiro?"

"If the right lady should show up." He answered immediately, raising an eyebrow at her words. "It is quite strange though, I have never heard of someone like you before. As a matter of fact, it has been well over two years since the underground has last seen the manslayer. Rumor was that he packed up his organization to start a new life. Are you the result of his new life?"

"Not quite." She replied, reaching back to loosen the dagger from her hair. "He disappeared under the radar for some time due to…certain confidential problems. He never intended to fully leave the scene. As for me…I specialize in being undetectable. If you have never heard of me, it just means that I have succeeded in my mission. Quite the compliment coming from you considering the fact that you as well as Monsieur Shinomori are said to have eyes and ears everywhere." She ran her hand through her wavy tresses, smoothing the tangles and enjoying the way his eyes practically devoured her image. "You could say that I have always been a professional watcher. Himura found me, contrary to what I told the members of the party yesterday, not as a dancer in Bois du Bologne but through my connections who offered him my services. It was a way for me to advance the societal ladder in power and accomplishment and a chance for him to hear about his former allies and their new actions."

"A win-win situation." Enishi commented, before downing the rest of the wine in his glass.

She smiled serenely back at him. "Quite." She murmured and settled a palm against her cheek. "Now, shall we order, or would you prefer to continue interrogating me?"

He laughed and rang the bell on the table for the waiter. "It would be ungentlemanly of me to deny you anything." He paused, hands sliding into his pockets to retrieve a crimson card. "Though I would enjoy your company greatly next week. Do try to make some time for me. I promise I won't impose on you too much." He flicked the sealed envelope from between two fingers, allowing the invitation to cut through the air mercilessly.

"Nice move." She commented, reaching out a delicate hand to catch the card. "I will certainly try to not disappoint you. I have a feeling that you are not a patient man when it comes to waiting." She flashed a savvy smile at him, loving the way he was falling headfirst into her carefully crafted plan. The power to control, to make or break. "But then again, Monsieur…I am not known for my patience either."

"Yet another similarity between us." He commented, hiding a smile behind his poise.

"Oh? You say, another—do inform me of the other trait we share."

"Passion."

_**Deux sœurs également terribles et fécondes **_(3)

"Ah Shishio-sama, do you really think that Sanosuke will be able to carry out the task you gave to him?" Soujiro's eyes were passive and relaxed, closed tightly in a beaming smile. His customary white, ruffled shirt and black slacks stood out sharply against the bandaged leader's loose robe. The scent of incense wafted through the small and barely lit room, an opium pipe poisoning the atmosphere. He wrinkled his nose in distaste against the heady combination of smells, but retained his ever-present smile with utmost dedication.

"Of course not, Soujiro. I'll be surprised if he even makes it into Shinamori's house with the note." Shishio flicked some imaginary ashes from the long, amber pipe onto the floor and exhaled a plume of smoke. "And what have I told you about using Japanese in front of me? You know how the French detest us Asian men." The slightest twist of bitter sarcasm and anger tipped the end of the otherwise neutral statement, causing a slight wrinkle to form on the brown-haired assassin's smooth forehead.

"Ah, je suis désolé. J'ai oublié." He replied calmly, hands swinging loosely by his side, careful to avoid the hilt of his prized sword. "It's just that old habits take some time to correct." He bowed low, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear before opening his eyes a fraction to fix an almost deadly stare at his leader. "I owe much to you for allowing me to overcome my fears."

Shishio gave a dry laugh in response, waving a hand in a clearly dismissive and half-hearted gesture. "It's understandable. You spent nearly your entire life in Japan, what was it? Eighteen years? You have only been with me for four years in Paris. It's just a shame that it's taking you so long to adjust to the way of the westerners. Their technology is so much more efficient than the weapons you are used to." He withdrew an elegantly crafted vial, drawing the Tenken's eyes to the white powder inside. "Anthrax. Enough to kill a man effortlessly if I wanted to. The slightest inhalation of it or physical contact with it can send the victim to an early grave." Bandaged hands slipped the vial back into his robes before nervous fingers resumed tapping methodically on the now-empty pipe. "I just wish you would acquiesce to using a pistol rather than a sword. They're so much for efficient, you know."

Soujiro chuckled softly in the poor lighting of the room, rubbing a hand against the back of his head in abashment. "I've been taught to use a sword for most of my life and the idea of using a machine is a bit…foreign. I have no doubt that I would be most terrible at aiming. I admit that my main strength comes from being able to kill silently and swiftly, which is far easier for me to do with a sword than with a gun. The recoil I have heard about from Hoji is painful for first-time users, isn't it?" His tone was light as air, as if the conversation was nothing more than a discussion of an invitation to a party. It seemed as if the young man's tone existed only to soothe and pacify, the very sound of innocence.

"What Hoji says is true, but the recoil only affects the user if the user is incompetent. You are a fast learner Soujiro, I have no doubt that firing a gun would come just as easily to you as using a sword." The conversation was interrupted by a sharp rap on the outside door, surprising neither of the two figures. "It seems as if there is some news we need to hear." Shishio remarked calmly, gesturing for the younger of the two to open the door.

"Monsieur Shishio! Je te présente Zanza!"

As the introduced figure stepped into the room, both Soujiro and Shishio were careful to keep their hands close to their respective weapons. Both were highly trained in the business of forming alliances and they had long ago memorized the rules of the game of survival in the underworld. Rule one, of course, was to trust no one—least of all the people who worked with you. At least enemies were dependable in their actions. "I trust that you bear good news for me?" Shishio ventured to ask at last after a period of tense silence.

"I would be suicidal to walk in here with bad news."

_**Ayant la même énigme et le même secret.**_ (4)

It wasn't, admittedly, the most comfortable situation to be in. Hell, he would be lucky to even walk out of the room with his pride intact, much less his head still on his shoulders. From the corner of his eye, Sanosuke saw the infamous Tenken no Soujiro casually unsheathe his sword. Resisting the urge to just deliver the message in a quick and messy sentence then leave, the fighter-for-hire settled against the wall with a short, tense sigh. What he said had been true. He wasn't known for his intelligence, but he certainly knew enough to understand that one did not walk into a meeting with Shishio carrying bad news. He was just lucky that Shinomori had been too busy overseeing the dead body to notice the addition of a note on his carefully organized desk.

Immediately following that thought, the image of Beshimi's corpse floated into the forefront of his mind. The job had been clean and most likely painless, but he still couldn't forget the haunted and panicked look in the dead man's eyes nor the almost mechanically perfect made incision from where the sword entered the neck and then promptly withdrew. Instinctively, hazel brown eyes slid carefully to look at the twenty-two year old swordsman standing by Shishio's side in well-concealed fear. That man was heartless and brutal. The best of the best. That particular knowledge only made him all the more anxious to escape the room.

"So you were successful in leaving the note with my instructions on it for Shinomori to see?" The skepticism was clearly heard and Sanosuke crossed his arms in open defiance. "And you weren't detected by anyone?"

"It wasn't easy, but I managed because of the fact that everyone was way too disorganized and occupied with examining Beshimi's corpse. It helped that Yukishiro was suspiciously absent from the manor, leaving everything in Shinomori's hands. If you ask me, I figure that their alliance is shaky." There was absolutely no way in Hell he would admit to the two of them that he was nearly caught by the manor guards twice and escaped only by climbing up a tree. He would only be mocked mercilessly by the weapons dealer.

"Interesting." Shishio remarked, leaving the room otherwise eerily silent with only Soujiro's bright smile to occupy Sanosuke's thoughts. It wasn't pleasant to look at the nut job's grin. It reminded the fighter-for-hire far too much of a loose marble in the bag and of serial killers who weren't quite sane in the head. There was no way any normal person, forget murderer, could possibly smile for such an extended period of time. He wondered if the kid even smiled like that in his sleep. Creepy. The whole situation was distinctly hellish and though the room was devoid of spiders and the telltale hiss of snakes, he couldn't get rid of the impression that he was all just a part of a larger picture. He was a delinquent and had his fair share of jail time, but even he knew when to stop. It was almost humbling to stand in front of one of the world's greatest weapons dealers and crime lords. Almost. He wondered if this was what a lust for power twisted a person into—a being without a soul and sustained purely on the hate and murderous thoughts of others.

"It's so curious, Monsieur Sanosuke." Soujiro finally spoke up, scratching his head in confusion. "You are obviously uncomfortable in our presence and yet you remain. Tu ne cours pas mais tu as peur de nous. Pour quoi? Je ne comprende pas." The smile stayed firmly in place despite the nearly ominous question lurking underneath his seemingly casual and friendly words. Sanosuke didn't forget that the innocent looking individual in front him was a brutal murderer capable of taking a life without batting so much as an eyelash. It was hard to forget with the sadistic grin painting Shishio's bandaged face and the carefully concealed grip of the Tenken's hand on his wicked sword.

"Hate is much stronger than fear. I am smart enough to know when I am outmatched in power. And don't call me Monsieur Sanosuke. I doubt that I deserve that kind of respect." Here he gave a pointed look at his own two fists, a shadow passing over his face. He specialized in kickboxing and street fighting, not in the subtle art of deception or the simple pull of a trigger. He wasn't in any shape to take on any of Shishio's men. A fist, after all, couldn't kill a man. But a gun could. A gun could easily blow his head to pieces. He had no doubt about that. And that was what made the whole situation terrifying, to know that one man could decapitate him with a simple flick of the wrist, and that another could easily shoot a hole in his heart. "I haven't forgotten my other part of the bargain. You probably know already that Shinomori will most likely ignore your threat. I am fully prepared to infiltrate the manor once more and assault one of his remaining three guards. I keep my promises on the grounds of honor."

"Don't speak of honor." Shishio stated flatly, letting the pipe drop from his burnt lips with a resounding clatter. "Honor is for the bastard policeman and people the likes of _L'association de curateurs_." He spat out viciously, slamming a hand down on the table. "In my domain, there is no such thing as _honor_. Only truth. The weak die and the strong survive here, in my world."

"That's harsh," Sanosuke commented without thinking, and immediately faced a ferocious stare from the seated leader. "So you would have your own men die in front of you if they were weak enough to be killed?" It was a morbid question, the likes of which the fighter never really liked to ask or have answered. He didn't understand why he asked it in the first place. In the underworld, questions were a sure-fire way to get you killed. He knew that, but the macabre way with which Shishio looked at the world repulsed and fascinated him at the same time. Like a moth lingering too close to a flame, he thought. He wanted to get deeper into the organization, to become a rebel in society and be accepted by the moral-less characters of the alleyways and streets. But it seemed as though the deeper he went into the heart of criminal associations, the more he desperately wanted to get out.

"It's a one-way place to Hell if you're here with us. If you're weak, you just go down and see Satan earlier. If you're strong, well, you can get a few more days of life on Earth. Nobody ever said things had to be fair." Shishio paused, something akin to pride flickering briefly in his eyes as he gazed at the young sword prodigy by his side. "People who seek to align themselves with me are doing so because they want to be part of the group that stays on Earth a little bit longer. I owe them nothing and if they die, there are always others out there waiting to fill their places. It matters little to me who bites the bullet these days. _Mourir_."

It was like a fucking cult here, Sanosuke realized suddenly. All that was missing was a sacrificial lamb and a giant pentagon hanging in the background. He turned around abruptly, running an agitated hand through his spiked hair. God, the people here had serious issues. "Is Soujiro the same? Is he equally unimportant in your eyes?" He expected the smile to drop from the boy's face or at least some semblance of anticipation to ripple through the boy's frame. He was sorely disappointed, the smile stayed in place and if anything, a look of near smugness melded gently with the assassin's features.

"He transcends Heaven." Shishio replied enigmatically before pointing to the door. "I believe you have exhausted your stay here. I expect you to reappear in three days with good news once again. Do not forget that the price for failure is your life."

"I haven't forgotten. Believe me."

"See to it that you don't."

And with that, the wheel was set into motion, tumbling down a ravine deep enough to drown a man. Soujiro watched as Sanosuke walked out of the door and back into the moonlit night with a dangerous twist to his lips. The young assassin supposed it was a shame to see an idiot like that be manipulated so easily. But the rules were the rules, and the weak were bound to die anyways. At least this one would die with a purpose—however meaningless it would prove to be. He shook his head in amusement before locking gazes with Shishio once more.

"He won't be coming back here in three days." The leader murmured softly, calmly, with a pleased expression playing about his face. "There's no way he could possibly get out of Shinomori's manor alive after your beautiful execution of one of his most precious guards." He sat back then, picking up the previously discarded pipe with bandaged hands. "You know, I always thought things were better after they were broken once before. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course."

Yes, it was a shame, Soujiro mused to himself as he took his leave, the wind playing lightly and tenderly with his stray strands of chestnut hair. He reflected on it as he sat in the bonsai garden, solitary save for the nightingale perched on a tree branch. It just didn't make sense how Zanza didn't see the truth or the futility of even trying to accomplish the impossible task set in front of him. But then again, he supposed, if the weak were smart, than they wouldn't be killed so easily.

Such a pity that Sanosuke never realized he was their sacrificial lamb.

* * *

_(1)__ Death and beauty are two things profound,  
(2) So of dark and azure, that one might say that  
(3) They were two sisters terrible and fecund  
(4) Possessing the one enigma, the one secret._

-The poem for the next three chapters will be Victor Hugo's Ave, dea; moriturus te salutat (_Hail, Goddess; he who is about to die salutes you_). It's quite the lovely poem and was dedicated to Judith Gautier, one of his most prized mistresses. Some say that it was the best love poem of his career. At any rate, enjoy!

-Opium generally takes the shape of white, triangular packets. Considering that opium was highly consumed in China during the period of time that this story takes place in (not to mention the Opium Wars were being fought as well between the British and the Chinese), it would make sense for Enishi to oversee the operations. In accordance to the actual storyline of Rurouni Kenshin, he has ties to China, having grown up there. I transferred that over to this story.

-Soujiro's past has been altered, as you will see, but I do draw upon his traumatic experience in the manga as a template. The words he says in French, translated, amount to: "I'm sorry, I forgot," followed by "You don't run, but you are afraid of us. Why? I don't understand." I am certain that I messed up on the placement of the 'nous' for the 'afraid of us' part, so any corrections would be greatly appreciated.

-Shishio's character is slightly more demented in a quiet way in Versailles. I figured it would be more eerie and menacing than if he were outright, cackling insane. He says Mourir, which means "to die" in French.

-Sanosuke is a lot more perceptive (but still obtuse in comparison to Saitou, Shishio, Soujiro, Misao, Aoshi, and Kenshin) in the story. He shows slightly more class in front of Shishio because he wants to make a better impression. Obviously, his normal casual slang simply won't work at all for the tyrant of a weapons dealer. Keep in mind that he's dealing with the top of the chain, the people who attend operas and fancy parties as they reap the benefits of their corruption. This isn't a street thing anymore; this is a much more serious and treacherous game he's playing.

-Merde, said by Misao, means "Shit".

Author's Notes: Wow that was about three times as long as normal. I hope you all enjoyed it, because goodness knows I spent several days writing it. I think there was quite some foreshadowing in this chapter and that the plot has very obviously developed. Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time, and I hope you guys continue to support this story. (I must confess though, that my ego took a sharp dip when I realized that I lost roughly half my readers with the last chapter.) So please, please motivate me and drop a comment!

**Summary and Preview of the Next Chapter**

* * *

There was hardly enough time to react in the cramped space. But it wasn't as if he could've reacted in the first place anyways. The dagger was pressing far too deeply into his neck for him to even bother contemplating the circumstances. The sharp and flaring pain that came when the blade sought to bite into his skin sent all his thoughts scattering.

"Who sent you?" The words were hissed out as the dagger stilled momentarily.

He almost laughed at the irony.

**Summary:** In which everything goes wrong for Sanosuke and he is forced to make a terrible choice. Meanwhile, Misao reflects on her close call and realizes something important is missing from the equation. And in the middle of everything, Saitou seizes the chance to make his first, deadly maneuver of the game.


End file.
